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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926113">love letter for you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/derflohwalzer/pseuds/derflohwalzer'>derflohwalzer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shall We Date?: Obey Me!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Confessions, F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other, POV Second Person, Parties, Pre-Relationship, Slight Insecurity, actually i dont think there's pronouns at all, blink and youll miss it, honestly id simp for you, i describe u as beautiful in these stories bc you are beautiful and ily, i wrote these as results for a uquiz, it's only in asmo's, its just cute ok, its really light, let me have this, my gift to the obey me fans because i cant get enough either, now you all get to read them free of charge!, sneaking out of the masquerade ball with an angel, soft, there's not a lot of dialogue in most of them, ur a shining star and u deserve to be loved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:41:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,933</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/derflohwalzer/pseuds/derflohwalzer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of you sending love letters to your beloveds in the devildom, and their responses.</p><p>(luke is now included in the story as a STRICTLY PLATONIC bonus chapter. i do not and will not ship luke and mc in any way, shape, or form.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Barbatos (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Barbatos (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Beelzebub (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Diavolo (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Simeon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Simeon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s), Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Original Character(s), Solomon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Obey me! Because I am sad</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. lucifer.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>these took me a week. enjoy.</p><p>here's the link for the quiz: https://uquiz.com/w7k7iM</p><p>edit: so one of my favorite authors on here took the quiz and read the fic and i am. i am just. aawaaa /pos</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>your heart burns brilliantly, horribly, achingly in your ribs as you slip out of lucifer's office, fingers numb and void of the letter that they clutched so anxiously no more than a few moments ago. a chill of anticipation trickles down the back of your neck and down your spine, gentle and unrelenting against your skin as you make it back to your room without further commotion.</p><p>you know lucifer's bound to come back in at least a few seconds from his minor break from paperwork to brew a cup of tea (green tea with lemon, because it’s what he always gets, and lucifer never deviates from a routine, because why change perfection?), and although the suspense kills you and rips your insides apart like a thousand paper cuts, you keep your door shut as you hear his footsteps padding against the ground, careful not to move a muscle as you hear his office door open and shut. you breathe out a soft breath you didn't know you were holding in as you slip into bed, nervous and full of anticipation.</p><p>you don't get a wink of sleep that night.</p><p>the next morning comes with your fingers fidgeting together and your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you arrive at the dining hall for breakfast. too much of a nervous wreck to stomach anything, you pass most of your food to beel after a bite or two and make to leave for classes when a stern voice stops you.</p><p>"(name), please stay until after breakfast. i would like to have a word with you," lucifer states, voice leaving no room for argument. you barely register the worried noises of his younger brothers as you obediently and silently sit back down, as if in a trance, trying to focus adamantly on the twisted stairway that circles up from the end of the dining hall, rather than focus on lucifer’s gaze boring into your skin like hot coals. his eyes never trail away from you, and you don't know if it's your nerves playing tricks on you or not, but his gaze seems a bit less harsh than usual.</p><p>breakfast ends without a hitch, apart from mammon trying unsuccessfully to get you to sneak away and come to classes with him, but after the other six brothers leave, you end up facing lucifer alone, the butterflies in your stomach becoming thorny vines that encircle each of your ribs from the very pit of your chest.</p><p>"(name). be completely honest with me," he starts, cutting right to the chase. "did you write this letter?"</p><p>he holds up that same clean parchment that you had spilled all of your vulnerabilities and hidden laments onto in the form of ink and pen. you purse your lips, voice uncharacteristically timid as you confirm his suspicion. he hums in recognition and doesn't say anything for a moment, doing nothing to help the nervous swarm of hornets causing a riot in your breastbone. you're anxious, nervous, awaiting his response, but when he opens his mouth, his words are that of a softer tone, ones that you would never expect the cold and sadistic first born to even think of uttering. they drown out the nervous flutters in your chest, replacing your fluttering purple nerves with an insatiable warmth that fills you like sunlight. a delicate smile crosses your lips, and it soon erupts into a grin, hapless and uncontrollable and beautiful and power in its rawest form.</p><p>your smile enchants him, and it causes a small upward curve of his own lips as he offers to walk to class with you, the first time he's ever done that. so, naturally, you agree.</p><p>and as you two walk hand in hand, heart in heart, you feel more at home than home has ever felt like.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. mammon.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>now or never, your mind says, just like it’s been saying for the past few forevers, despite the feeling of the original panelling and the fishbone parquet lining the walls feeling like they’re slowly shrinking; or maybe you’re growing, the nerves in your chest inflating you like a bright red balloon. the stray martini glasses and mammon’s marabou trim slippers that lay discarded on the ground seem to mock you with invisible lips, taunting and unrelentless and so, so loud.</p><p>your heart, contracting in your chest like a strait jacket, feels like melted chocolate, or like an orange being squeezed in one’s fist, dripping down the bones of your rib cage as your fingers brush against his, the contact of skin sparking like an electric buzz, bubbling like champagne and fizzling out in the deepest parts of your heart.</p><p>the letter leaves your fingers and slips into his in one smooth motion — such a simple thing, yet to you, it feels like you just handed him the key to finding out all of your vulnerabilities, your secrets, your innermost thoughts and dreams. and perhaps, in this situation, you had.</p><p>and as he cuts open the envelope with a flick of his wrist and his unusually sharp nail — goodness, that did things to you — your fingers begin to thread together nervously, fingernails lightly scraping against your skin as you bit the inside of your cheek, a flurry of nervousness and emotion coursing through every tendril in your body as he scans the contents of the letter. his eyes are slowly widening, even behind those gold tinted sunglasses that he insists on wearing indoors because “nobody could stand th’ radiant greatness o’ th’ legendary mammon, even when they’re inside!”, and you can’t bear to look at him anymore, the fear and nervousness drowning out your better judgement and causing your eyes to avert.</p><p>you brace yourself for the rejection when you notice his lips part from your peripheral, as if he’s starting to say something. when he notices your withdrawn composure, he shuts his mouth and steps closer to you, long caramel painted fingers taking your hands gently and causing you to glance up at him, startled.</p><p>and as you gaze into his eyes, soft and vulnerable and open, you feel all the words die from your lips, fizzling out like firecrackers in the rain. you don’t need to say anything, and neither does he, because he’s mammon — he’s your first man, your best friend, and between the two of you, there’s no need for words. you just understand each other through silent glances and soft gazes, as if it’s your own language. in a way, the soft rubbing of the pad of his thumb against your knuckles and the way his eyes study yours like a map is cathartic, comforting, safe.</p><p>your chest releases a flurry of sunflower petals, fluttering up like a perfect whirlwind and catching in your throat as your face breaks out into a bright unrelenting smile, all dimples and crinkles of the eyes and soft, pure joy in the kindest form it can manifest into. he returns the smile with one of his own, a grin that makes your heart stammer in your chest like a gong.</p><p>his hands squeeze yours, and your knees feel like jelly, viscous and weak and unable to stand properly as you slip your arms over his shoulders and embrace him gently, if only to stop yourself from falling over and to feel his warmth against you. he feels like a peach tinted home, a home of intertwined hands and understanding eyes and full dopey grins and the two of you against the world, together, like a mantra.</p><p>you’ve never felt more real than now, and you’d be damned if you let it slip away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. leviathan.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>you watch from behind a large tree trunk with spindly branches as the raven lands on the bench next to where leviathan furiously jams the buttons on his console, the screen flashing with the words ‘game over!’ in bold font as he groans and sets down his console, only noticing the bird peering at him curiously after. he notes the letter that the creature carries, tied carefully and loosely to the bird’s ankle by a blue thread.</p><p>after levi unties it gently, the bird shakes itself and flies off into the murky devildom sky. as he reads the contents of the letter (rather quickly for someone who doesn’t always have his nose in a book that isn’t some new shounen manga, you note), you watch his eyes widen in shock as he glances around at his surroundings once, twice, before turning back to the letter, rereading over and over in disbelief. his face is covered in a pink flush, and his hands can barely grip the paper with how much they’re shaking — or perhaps they’re shaking from how tightly he’s clutching the paper as he glances around for any sight of you.</p><p>he soon sees your head peeking out from behind the tree, your enchantingly gorgeous features highlighted from the tendrils of moonlight filtering through the branches of the dogwood tree and accompanying the peony petals that make your way into your hair without you noticing, and the furious blush on his cheeks dives deeper, to the point where his face is lit up with a peach pink hue, and you swear you can hear the comical sounds of a kettle boiling and screeching.</p><p>before you make a move, he catches a glimpse of a strand of pearls and dripping diamonds hanging loosely on your navy blue turtleneck that makes your neck look extremely alluring, which is literally so unfair because how can your neck manage to look amazing even when it’s covered? before he can dwell on how that should be illegal, however, you walk over tentatively, slowly, carefully, because how could you possibly be anything but gentle with this magnetic shut-in?</p><p>as you step close, his words come out all jumbled and stuttered as he trips over his words, eyes not knowing where to look and shoulders square and tense.</p><p>“d-d-did you, uhm, uh- wr-write this f-for-for me-? i-i totally get it i-if-if this w-w-was for someone else, uhm- ghh, it was pr-probably a mistake i-in delivery o-or something,” he fumbles nervously as he looks anywhere but your calm and somewhat pensive face.</p><p>“i-i-i-! i totally u-under- uhm- understand if it was, uhm, for someone else, b-b-because why would a- a- a wonderful person l-like-like you ever like a-a shut-in otaku l-li-like-like me? i-i’m sorry, t-th-this is yours, i shouldn’t h-have read it, it’s n-n-not m-mine, i’m sorry, i-i’m a sorry excuse for a- for a demon, just a gross otaku wh-who can’t do anything right, i-”</p><p>you cut him off by pressing the letter deeper into his hands, and he lets out a confused squeak, because aren’t you supposed to be taking the letter back? there’s no way anyone, even someone as kind and caring as you, would ever do something so romantic and sweet for someone like him, right?</p><p>before his thoughts can spiral anymore, your delicate fingers, soft and comforting and safe, safe, safe, are slowly loosening his, trying to get him to relax. it seems to work as you softly affirm that the letter was, indeed, for him. after recovering from the blinding slaps of shock that rattle through his body like a bag of pearls, he feels so honored and excited that someone as amazing as you is “going down his route”, and that you seem to like him.</p><p>he excitedly takes your hand not long after, able to gain any semblance of peace of mind, and gleefully invites you to come to his room and watch some new shows with him.</p><p>and who are you to refuse your lovely shut-in otaku?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. satan.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>it’s practically routine at this point for you and him to meet in the library after classes on tuesdays and fridays to read and hang out together, occasionally debating and chatting about the newest drama or the hottest mystery. you’ve found a familiar sense of comfort in the rough castle walls decorated with tapestries portraying chimerical scenes, and the furniture, artfully crafted from wood into curved lines, falcon's wings and lion's claws, brings you a semblance of peace as you wear down the wood over time with the brushing of your delicate fingers. the gold embroidery woven into the velvety fabric of the pin-tuck pillows lights up with the flickering of the blazing fireplace.</p><p>normally, you would curl up next to him on the abnormally large armchair and read in silence with him, but this time, you had a goal in mind, and despite how you came off, you were a bit more clever than you let on. so, letting him lead the conversation last meeting, you noticed that he spoke about wanting to reread his favorite romantic drama by one of the most famous devildom authors.</p><p>you were quick to find the book in the vast library under the romance area, and you had slipped your letter in between the pages. you had, of course, taken some time to read the book, because it was a rather lovely read (as expected from one of the best selling authors of the three realms) and you had wanted to locate the scene where the love interests either confessed to each other or kissed for the first time, just to slip your letter into those pages specifically.</p><p>satan was, by far, the most clever and intuitive of his brothers — the only other person that you could see understanding the symbolism of the action was asmodeus, because, well...he was asmodeus. satan would definitely understand the meaning behind the action, and it would help to deliver your point and get it across.</p><p>if anything, you want this to be over with — you fear the reaction of the wrathful fourth born to a love confession more than any horror the devildom could offer. as you watch him slip the book from the shelf with delicate, pale fingers, careful and slow, you turn your gaze back to your book, the ink blurring together into a mess of incoherent ideas that you can’t quite make out.</p><p>you watch carefully as he opens the book, the disturbance between the pages causing him to flip exactly where you wanted. you watch his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he slides the envelope from the pages, his name clear on the paper. you watch as he glances to the writing on the book’s pages, eyes slightly widening in recognition of the scene he flipped to and the implications of the letter’s contents. you watch as his eyes slowly turn to the letter that he’s opening, then you watch as his eyes scan over the words that you poured out so thoughtfully onto the paper, and through your subtle studying of the flecks of gold in his eyes, you know that he recognizes your handwriting.</p><p>and when he glances at you and those gold flecks beam at you like stars, you feel blinded, and yet you’ve never been able to see more clearly than you have now. he knows you wrote the letter, and you know that he returns your feelings, because he hasn’t made any moves against you or killed you on the spot — instead, he’s moving close, scooting towards you with flushed cheeks and eyes that never tear away from you. his hand goes up to tuck stray locks of hair behind your ear, and your heart leaps in your chest so high that you feel it hiccup gently from your throat.</p><p>and even as beautiful and important and powerful as words are to the two of you, you both know that you don’t need to say anything to know that you both love each other irrevocably.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. asmodeus.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the day is one of spring blooms and peach colored clouds and the telltale scents of cherries and longing. you’re watching from afar as he steps out of his room, as radiant and bright as always, the early morning sun painting him in coats of gold as he unlocks his mailbox and flicks through the mail he received, seemingly bored until something in there, a gold nugget in the mine, a diamond in the rough, causes a slender eyebrow to raise.</p><p>discarding all of the other miscellaneous mail, you watch as he takes that letter — your letter, the one you poured everything into, the one you slaved over for days on end until it could perfectly capture how you felt about him — and opens it carefully, right there on his doorstep. if you hadn’t been carefully concealed, hiding behind a wall and donning an invisibility cloak gifted to you from barbatos, you would have thought that he was aware of your presence and was reading your heartfelt letter right then and there just to tease you.</p><p>you had an inkling that he already knew what the letter contained, and his lack of blushing replaced by a soft giggle under his breath confirmed that for you. you stepped behind the wall, took off your cloak, and slid down the wall, a frown etching onto your face — a stark contrast to the pale golden beauty of the morning.</p><p>of course he wouldn’t see you as more than a friend, an admirer, just another fan — you were just some lowly human, what did you have that could possibly give you a chance against all the other demons who vied for his attention?</p><p>it’s not until you hear asmodeus’ silky smooth voice behind you, perky as ever, that you glance up to look at him, eyes stinging with tears that refused to form or fall.</p><p>“oh, my dear human, whatever are you doing on the ground like that? here, let me help you,” he says gently, tenderly, beautifully, as he helps you stand from where your legs have long since gone weak. “what are you doing all glum like that? you’re going to get all filthy if you sit on the bare ground.”</p><p>of course you’re filthy, you’re but a speck of dust in this realm as compared to the jewel of all the realms, asmodeus himself. no wonder he said that, right?</p><p>his voice cuts through your negative cycle of thoughts once more as he says, “you know, i’m not exactly naïve, my little sunflower. i could recognize your handwriting and the scent of you from anywhere in the whole of the devildom. you really didn’t have to go through the trouble of using that cloak of yours just to conceal yourself, you know. i like you too, a lot, so it’s no big deal if you face me while i read your letter, right?”</p><p>and you’re pretty sure that in that moment, something inside of you both died and lit up anew, a tender flame kindled in the pit of your bosom as your frown melted away into a soft smile. he took your hand with a matching smile and sparkling golden eyes, and you felt your heart hammer in your chest as he pulled you off for an impromptu day together.</p><p>you noticed that, throughout the entire day you two spent together, not once did he ever let go of the letter. not when he went to pay for things, or when he was fixing his hair in his compact mirror, or any other instance. the thought of it filled your heart with a pleasant warmth. you loved him, truly, and it was a love that was passionate, warm, and ever burning.</p><p>you had never felt more loved.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. beelzebub.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“belphie, look,” you hear as you pass by the kitchen. your feet stall, and you find yourself listening to the next words from the ginger haired sixth born, curiosity piqued as you listened attentively. “this isn’t usually like the stuff i get in the mail, is it?”</p><p>ah. your letter. the one you had spent hours laboring over, trying to find the right words to depict how you truly felt for the teddy bear of a demon. you pause and peer into the kitchen after doing a quick glance around to see if there’s anyone passing by. after seeing nobody, you listen and observe carefully to what the twins are saying.</p><p>“no, beel, it’s not,” belphie’s soft voice replies as he rubs his eye with his fist sleepily. “it smells like fruits...and sugar...maybe it’s food.”</p><p>at the mention of that, he perks up and eagerly opens the envelope, reaching inside to find your meticulously written letter. his face falls briefly, and so does your heart, like a lead weight as you feel a prickling behind your eyes and nose. when he reads it, however, his eyes seem to light up with an unnatural sparkle as he scans the paper over and over again.</p><p>you find your teeth biting on the inside on your cheek out of nervousness, so harshly that it’s dangerously close to drawing blood. a moment of fragile, undiluted silence passes before the younger twin breaks the silence.</p><p>“who do you think sent it?” belphie asks, eyes already shut as he leans at the waist against the counter, pillow under his head.</p><p>“it’s signed with…” beel trails off, voice catching in his throat as he seems to lose his voice. “...(name).”</p><p>as if on cue, he glances up from the letter to direct his gaze to the door, where you hide, listening to him read your letter. you flinch, startled at his violet eyes meeting yours, and you try to duck away, but you know it’s futile — you know he’s spotted you before you even think of attempting to hide. he’s quick to pull you with a firm yet comfortable gentleness into the kitchen. belphie glances up, sees you two walking in together, and takes that cue to leave with a reassuring (albeit sleepy) nod to beel, leaving you alone with the demon who just read the three hundred word long love letter you wrote him.</p><p>“...so you wrote the letter?” he asks softly, tenderly, quietly, almost hesitant to ask you, lips pursing and eyes averting, unable to look at you properly. as you nod in confirmation that yes, you wrote the letter, you can see the soft pink color flushed under his eyelashes, framing vulnerable eyes and blossoming across cherubic cheeks. you’re sure that your cheeks are reflecting the same dark hue, if not darker, as he takes your hands gingerly, sweetly, delicately, handling you as if you’re fragile china — he doesn’t want to break you, because he underestimates his strength too much sometimes and if he hurt you, he’d never forgive himself, even if it was something as minor as you cutting yourself on the shard of a teacup because of his bumbling clumsiness or his unwarranted strength coming into play when it shouldn’t.</p><p>so you feel his hands gently squeeze yours, and your heart is abuzz with an extraordinarily wicked glimmer that pierces you oh so violently through the ribs and caresses your heart with the tenderness of a lover’s fingers. like his fingers, his hands, his touch. the touch you crave so badly as you peel yourself away from the cold of the kitchen and into his inviting arms. it’s just the two of you there now — there’s nobody to bother you, and nobody to ruin this perfect moment.</p><p>you, for once, find a certain special, calm, beautiful kind of something in the silence that wasn’t there before.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. belphegor.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>your back sinks into the plush velvet lined pillow that rests under you, and the clean and sharp yet soothing scent of cold oat milk paired with the softness of the pillows you lounge lazily upon brings to you a sense of tranquility that you hadn’t known before.</p><p>beside you, he lays there, back flush against the fluffed up cotton of his cow print pillow, which by no means matches with the colorful hand sewn mosaic or the elegant velvety crimson of most of the pillows in the room, or the cheap polyester sheets and flickering fairy lights, or the floral print of the fluffy comforter that came with a reversible red and white striped side, but of course he insists that it fits together perfectly because his taste was that of avant-garde (even though he couldn’t even pronounce those words right) and he was simply being “stylishly messy” and “tastefully offset” with his room decor.</p><p>offset is right, if the darkly shaded pin tuck cushions against the delicate pastel shaded damask curtains and the matching lining of the fainting recamier are any contrast to go by, or any semblance of belphie’s idea of decor — honestly, you don’t want to say it because you don’t want to hurt the youngest brother’s feelings, but his room looks like the before of a home makeover show, or maybe the result of the furniture and home renovation section of akuzon throwing up all over an empty room.</p><p>when he’d attempted to excuse his horrible design skills by calling himself a “visionary of the arts” and a “master of avant-garde”, you had only laughed when he’d said that to you, tone endearing and playful, mostly at the fact that he still couldn’t pronounce avant-garde correctly.</p><p>even now, you feel a lilting smile quirk the corners of your lips up as your fingers slowly pooled through the cascading golden threads of the tassels on the pillow you stretched on like a cat soaking in the golden hues of a sunspot on the concrete.</p><p>“what’s so funny?” he asks you, and his voice is quiet and rasped with the plagues of waking up from a peaceful slumber, and it’s still hauntingly beautiful to you no matter the state of his voice or whatever may subdue it. you simply shake your head and shut your eyes slowly, your soft smile and melancholy visage giving you that of a mysterious aura. in a languid motion, you’re pressed against your stomach, a soft and somewhat enigmatic breath escaping your lungs as you relax against the pillows.</p><p>not five counts later, he speaks again.</p><p>“hey, if you’re gonna write me a heartfelt love letter about what you love about me and how you want to be more than just what we have, can you not put it under my pillow? the corners of the paper were poking me,” he mutters, a small huff leaving his lips as he waves your letter in the air — the letter you’d worked on for many a sleepless night.</p><p>sure, putting it under his pillow probably wasn’t a very good idea, but you had been sure that he wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise.</p><p>his serious and cold demeanor cracks, like fine porcelain, and breaks into something soft, playful, lightly teasing as he pokes your arm gently.</p><p>“i’m just kidding. so, you like me?” you nod slowly, and he nods in response. “okay. what should we do now?”</p><p>you don’t reply, because you honestly didn’t think you’d make it this far, and he replies to your silence by falling asleep again, but before you can hear his snoring, you feel the presence of an unfamiliar warmth on your hand.</p><p>you smile softly, beautifully, quietly, scooting over to lie next to him and falling asleep with your fingers loosely threaded together and your smiles bare and far between, but nonetheless there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. simeon.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>as the party bursts with life, the lavish gold intricacies of the wall you lean on go unnoticed as you study the crowds of demons, save for the transfer students other than yourself. despite this being one of the fanciest and most over the top masquerades lord diavolo had ever hosted since your time here, you had opted to dress modestly, appearing subtle yet well refined in a well fitted black waistcoat draped over your off white swavroski encrusted corset, nosegay pinned immaculately to your chest.</p><p>however, your untied cravat and messed up coiffure were the result of a rather nasty dance with the eldest of the avatars of sin. lucifer had chided you on your fashion choices, and you had retorted slyly with a sarcastic quip. apparently, lucifer couldn’t take a joke, because he was lucifer, of course he couldn’t, and things had escalated silently in the tense waltz, his grip on your hand bruising through the white satin gloves — you were positive that he’d left a mark or two on your delicate fingers. his ruby eyes were furious behind his dazzling mask of diamonds and feathers, and your cold glare was unrelenting and accentuated by the gold accents that lined your eyes as you watched his feet flawlessly avoid the pearly skirts of your fanfreluche gown from your peripheral.</p><p>right as the music had halted at a crescendo, you’d lifted your foot and slammed the sharp heel of your pointed-toe alexander mcqueens onto his, causing him to startle and relinquish your poor delicate hands from his harsh grip. he recovered horribly fast, and he was about to grab your throat, nails elongating into sharp obsidian daggers, when you picked up your skirts, hissed out a spiteful ‘it’s impolite to dance with the same partner twice’, and fled the scene, dipping into the shadows of the ballroom.</p><p>now you’re here, having but a moment to catch your breath before a hand takes yours softly, carefully, delicately, and makes off with you, fleeing from the crowded ballroom and into the dimly lit halls of the castle. you allow this stranger to whisk you away, and after a quick glance over your shoulder to clear the coast, you strip yourself of your waistcoat and unnecessary accessories, allowing yourself to run giddily, freely, enchantingly with this stranger in a custom gown à la ziegfield follies that seems to drown you in rustling flounces and lace, dripping with jewels and befitting of an ethereal being descending from the heavens.</p><p>you get a better look at this stranger now that you two have slowed to a stop, standing next to the rose scented fountain in the garden pavilion, illuminated by the ghastly moonlight.</p><p>it’s not a stranger, but an angel.</p><p>more specifically, the dark skinned angel that you had delivered a love letter to via magic; a perfume-pressed love letter of languish and sweet nectarine love that you had wasted away your energy for, slaving away to craft the perfect words to tell him how much he meant to you and what you loved about him — and there was a lot you loved about him.</p><p>one look in his eyes, past the subtle gold and pearl mask and the elegantly lined lids, and you know it’s him, and he knows it’s you. a perfect, beautiful moment of registration and understanding passes, and there’s no need to speak about it — the silent communication that’s passed through bubbling giggles and the tap of heels across a cobblestone bridge and your gloved hands clutching each other joyfully is enough.</p><p>the touch of an angel, you think, is exquisite — it’s a chaste, silky brush of skin against skin, and it fills you with the bubbly, heart jumping delight of thrill and anticipation as you two flee the party and make your way back to purgatory hall, the air ringing with laughter and distant cello melodies.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. solomon.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>you’ve been relaxing on the veranda outside of a sunlit orangery for a while, watching the sun set. the cold glass of lemonade — at least, you think it’s lemonade...you can never be too sure in the other two realms — that sits on the side table is mostly just water at this point. white rosebushes line the windows on the wall behind you, and their fragrance is a soothing presence that brings a wistful smile to your beautiful face.</p><p>from within the elegant structure of doric pillars and marble tiles, a glance to the open door reveals that the other human exchange student is still inside, working on some charm on a new trinket of his. books worn with time and filtered with dust float around him, all open and flipped to pages containing scripts and etched in drawings that you don’t bother trying to decipher from where you are.</p><p>the orangery was lent to you two as a place to stay during your visit to the celestial realm, and you had been more than giddy to spend time with solomon. although he wasn’t nearly as expressive as you, there was a twinkle in his eye and a pep in his step that gave you a clue as to how pleased he was to be having alone time with you. both of you had spent many a night in deep conversation under the darker skies of night, although the colors of the sky in the celestial realm more resembled a peach pink dusk during the late hours.</p><p>you weren’t complaining — the hues of melon orange and seductive pink made solomon’s features even more enchanting from under the open window. that was one of the many things you had mused on in the wee hours of the night, when solomon was fast asleep in his bed and you lay defeated amongst the hundreds, if not thousands of scattered papers, each containing another attempt at a failed love letter.</p><p>that brings your mind back to the love letter that you’d brought to the trip; the one that seemed as sincere and poetic as you could possibly make it, the one that just seemed right to you. you vaguely remember slipping it into solomon’s bag so he could find it, if not to also relieve yourself of the feeling of the letter searing a great big hole in your luggage, weighing you down and tempting you to just give it to him.</p><p>you wonder if he’s seen it yet, so you glance over to where his bag lies at the doorframe of the room. his bag is open, and it seems to be empty. you take that as a yes, but if he’s read it, he hasn’t said anything about it yet. you’ll be damned if you let him slip away without saying anything, but before you can muse on it any further, you hear footsteps from the room, glancing up to see solomon walking out the door and over to the lounge chair next to where you lay, taking a seat and shooting you one of his mischievous smiles that you absolutely fell in love with.</p><p>he says your name, and it’s with a voice that sounds like lemon curd and warm bonfires, and you reply with a soft hum because you don’t trust your words at all.</p><p>but, as luck may have it, your words aren’t necessary, as he holds up the opened letter and smiles coyly to you. his smile causes a smile to bloom on your face, and it’s a silent exchange of lingering eyes and twitching fingers and gentle smiles that makes your heart flutter like the wings of a hummingbird.</p><p>“so you love me?” he asks, and it sounds so surreal when he says it, because his voice is absolutely divine and you know this, you’ve known it for so long. you nod slowly, fingers tracing the edge of the chair that you lounge on, and he smiles, and your heart feels like the biggest whirlwind ever as he speaks, and you’re sure his next words killed you on the spot.</p><p>“good. because i love you too.”</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. barbatos.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>upon diavolo’s invitation, you had arrived to the devildom castle to get ready to attend diavolo’s birthday party. you had requested an outfit from the human realm, and so diavolo had assigned barbatos to get your measurements and fetch an outfit of utmost value from the human realm. you had tried to tell him that it was okay, you could make do with a simpler outfit, but barbatos had returned with an outfit that you found yourself not hating.</p><p>of course, otherworldly beings like asmodeus and other non-conforming demons and angels (you were especially fond of the outfits that the butterfly winged servant girls of the celestial realm donned during parties like this) have no trouble wearing extravagant dresses and gowns that engulf them in lavish fabrics of all kinds, so you see no trouble in what you’re wearing.</p><p>you step out of the dressing area wearing a corseted elegant gown with a high closed collar and a veil obscuring your every feature, paired with a brooch encrusted with diamonds and pearls, the centerpiece being a deep quartz that seems to swirl in your vision like the cursed tides of the river styx.</p><p>barbatos looks at you, and although his face remains a stiff mask of indifference and nonchalance, you swear that for a moment, you catch a glimpse of something new in his eye, something foreign. though you blame it on a trick of the light, there was no mistaking the faintest granule of passion, conviction, admiration in his eyes as he studies the way the gown hugs your beautiful figure.</p><p>you shove the thought aside in favor of reaching into the folds of your bag, steeling your heart which desperately hammers against your ribcage at every angle known to mankind, and pull out an envelope, sealed meticulously with a wax seal. you walk over to the butler and slip the pristine letter into his gloved hands. he doesn’t react much between raising an eyebrow and asking what the contents of the envelope are, but you tell him that you would prefer it if he waited until the party was over to open the envelope. he simply nods and continues to get you pampered for the party.</p><p>flash forward a couple of hours, and while satan exasperatedly watches mammon and beelzebub stumble around the buffet with bottles of demonus in their hands, a finger taps your shoulder gently. you turn to meet the aqua eyes of the demon lord’s butler himself, barbatos. he bows gracefully, flawlessly, effortlessly at the waist, and he holds out a hand to you, voice silky and smooth like the morning mist hovering above the lakes of the scottish highlands.</p><p>“i am aware that the dances have long since ended, but would you do me the honor of a final dance?” he asks, and you reply coyly with, “that depends, good sir. who do i have the honor of dancing with?”</p><p>“but a humble servant, my dear. a humble servant who falls at the whim of his master.”</p><p>“am i a master to you, or shall i compare you to an equal?” you ask slowly, eyebrow raising, and he doesn’t hesitate in replying.</p><p>“all shall call me what they will; an equal, a servant, a friend; but, my morningstar, i shall stand humbly before you to ask of you to remember me for that which burns so deeply in my soul upon your conviction; remember me as a lover.”</p><p>and it’s in that moment that you catch that flicker of foreign emotion in his eyes again. that moment is when you know that he read your letter, and you know what his response is.</p><p>taking his hand, you allow him to pull you off to a hidden corner of the castle, where the night fades away into softly whispered secrets and hands trailing up deliriously, removing jewels from the lover’s neck to press fervent, delicate kisses to each other’s skin.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. diavolo.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>you stretch languidly across the couch of the ornate rococo boudoir that you were lent in the demon lord’s castle, fingertip trailing across the gold accents of the armrest. despite the calm action that carries a bit of a graceful flair, your heart feels like it’s exploding. your nerves are all over the place, there’s a boiling hot bundle of butterflies arching up your spine and pinching at every tendril in your body, and you feel slightly nauseated from all of your anxiety stirring up.</p><p>you huff slightly, shutting your eyes firmly and shaking your head as if to shake off your buzzing nerves, opting instead to reach to the side table to trace the face of the putti statue that sits there innocently. the stimulation of the cold metal distracts you momentarily from the reason you were here in the first place; you had sent a letter to diavolo, and you had been formally called into the demon lord’s castle to talk to him about it. since he was a bit preoccupied, however, barbatos had guided you to the room formerly belonging to a mistress of diavolo’s father, instructing you to wait there until diavolo was free and could speak to you about your letter.</p><p>so here you are, waiting in avid anticipation for him to enter the room and talk to you. you suppose that what concerned him so much about your letter was that it had been a letter of hidden anguish and passion and a culmination of all of your concealed emotions being poured out onto the parchment that you’d sealed so carefully. you had sent the prince of hell a love letter, and now you were waiting for the consequence, the repercussion  — perhaps the benefit and the reward, if you were so lucky.</p><p>of course, you weren’t completely happy with falling for the most exclusive man in all of the three realms. it would be a lot of work to even get him to look your way, much less consider you a romantic partner, even potentially. and you yourself had never really been interested in love, always a tad bit unsure of the idea of commitment. “dalliance sounds sweeter than romance,” you would consider over a glass of wine. doll lashes would obscure the wicked glint in your eyes, and you had grown aware of your hypnotic presence, although you can’t say you haven’t had your fair share of using your influence on others for things that weren’t very good. of course, you have peered over the rim of your rose-colored glasses, but you simply came to the conclusion that you prefer your world doused in pink.</p><p>of course, you haven’t much time to dwell on the musings of the heartbroken poet that resides in you, because the door swings open, and there he is, a large bright presence and yet somewhat timid as he approaches you. you sit up, legs daintily crossed, and offer him a polite and rather docile smile, all sharp edges and plush pink lips that you know are tempting him as he gulps slightly.</p><p>“so, about the letter you sent…” he starts, and your eyebrow raises, but you say nothing, pushing him to continue. “that was rather unexpected of you, (name). i had no idea you felt that way.”</p><p>“that’s how romantic feelings work, diavolo,” you quip, amused, and he lets out a nervous titter of a laugh.</p><p>“r-right  — right. so, ahm, what shall we do about it then?”</p><p>“well, i, for one, would like to hear your answer to the burning question i asked you in my letter,” you reply smoothly, and you swear you hear something short circuit in his brain, his cheeks darkening with an adorable blush that travels over the bridge of his nose.</p><p>“i, uhm — i feel like i return those feelings, and i would like to see where this route takes us,” he says after a moment of careful deliberation, and you smile, genuine and true, but with a flicker of that essence of wicked seductiveness that screams danger.</p><p>“i would as well. meet me at the fall sometime for a dance?”</p><p>“i’ll be holding you to it.”</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. BONUS: luke.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>fair disclaimer: this chapter is STRICTLY PLATONIC. i'm basing it off of a soft headcanon that i have of luke and mc's sibling-like relationship that i never got to see in any obey me! fics, so these are my two cents. the headcanon is that mc likes to teach luke about some of the traditions and games that they played back in the human realm. this is a completely platonic chapter, and i do not, under any circumstances, ship luke and mc together romantically.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>the smell of ripe fruits and fragrant flowers lifts you up like a draft of fresh air as you feel giggles burst from your throat like soap bubbles. your bare feet graze the grassy lavender fields of the most scenic meadow in the celestial realm, the grass and soil embracing your skin like family. on occasion, your feet stepped onto the soft checkered cloth of the picnic blanket you brought with you. the late afternoon sun holds you like a warm blanket that feels too familiar to be natural, and behind yours and luke's laughter, the only things you hear are the occasional bumblebee and the ring of a bicycle bell in the distance.</p><p>after arriving, you've long since left the demon brothers to their tidings while you enjoy the day with simeon, solomon, and luke. the former two had gone off to fetch a few essentials from the villa near the beach that arched from under the hill that you and luke currently resided on top of, so you two had decided to spend the day playing around, just like when you were a child.</p><p>you feel the skirt of your cotton summer dress fluttering in the wind, along with the ribbon of your large straw hat, the fabrics tickling your skin and causing more giggles to erupt from your throat as you twirled luke around in your arms, the both of you laughing joyously. you soon set him down after the both of you had sore ribs and calmer expressions, reaching over for the wicker basket packed with home-baked bread and patisseries from the local bakery by the farmer's market.</p><p>under all of the baked goods lays a simple notepad, the paper pale and decorated with cartoonish flowers, two ballpoint pens rolling together at the bottom of the basket. patches of sunlight beam down upon the both of you as you took a moment to feast on the baked goods, luke telling grandiose stories of the celestial realm that he'd experienced himself. after you finish enough to satiate yourselves, you pull out the notepad and the pens, handing a piece of paper and a pen to luke. he takes them and asks, "what are these for?"</p><p>you tell him, "they're for a game from the human realm that we like to play. do you want me to teach you?"</p><p>at the mention of a game with his favorite human, he perks up and nods excitedly. "yes, please!"</p><p>you giggle softly and click your pen, saying, "this was a game that my family and i loved to play; it was like tradition for us. we would write letters to each other about how much we love each other, and when we were finished, we would wait until the wind was strong enough, then we would let the paper go. my family believed that when you write a letter like that and let it go, the angels in heaven would receive your letter and send good luck and fortune to the person you wrote it to. afterward, we would play with dandelions and blow soap bubbles together."</p><p>"uwaaah, that sounds like so much fun!" luke exclaims, already scribbling down on the thin parchment in his child-like handwriting. "of course, we can't exactly send the letters to angels up here, but the winds of the celestial realm will grant you your wish, i'll make sure of it! let's write letters about each other, (name)!"</p><p>and so you two sit there, the sound of the wind rustling the trees and the soft playful hums that came from luke being the only sounds that carry to your ears as you write. you pour out how much luke means to you and how he reminds you so much of a little brother, and that you're forever grateful to have him in your life. once you two are finished, the notes are released into the sky and you two go to play with the soap bubbles that you brought from the human realm, hidden away in your pocket. you two momentarily forget about the letters as you laugh joyously, blowing bubbles and watching dandelion puffs rise in the air.</p><p>neither of you notice the fingers of one michael that plucks the letters from the skies, smiling wistfully as he reads them. truly, the purest kind of affectionate love.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the end. let me know if you want to see luke's platonic bonus, or if you want to see anything else that's obey me! related.</p><p>comments make my day, and i respond to each one personally. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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